Love Letters On My Skin
by rising.and.fallen
Summary: Three years ago, you would have felt bad about this. ShaneCaitlyn. Dedicated to DramaticStarlet!


**_author's note:_**_ Um, yeah. I never know what to say during these things. So, um, enjoy?_

**_disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Camp Rock. Insert witty line here._

**_dedication:_**_ So this one goes to my freakishly awesome beta, KATIE (DramaticStarlet) because she helped me (a lot) AND she actually liked it. ily._

You're growing up, you think to yourself as you swipe the key from under the doormat and twist it into the doorknob. The door swings open with a soft creak and you find yourself tiptoeing into the lit house. Three years ago, you would have felt a little shy and a whole lot guilty about this—after all, you're fucking your best friend's husband. Now, though, you're not really feeling anything, except for horny. And a little excited, because you're about to get it on with Shane Gray.

You probably shouldn't. You screwed him for the first time three years ago, and all this time later, he still makes you blush. Still makes you see stars when he crashes his lips against yours and slams you into a wall, your legs closed around his hand, still makes your toes curl when he plunges in and out of you. Sex with Shane Gray is never just plain old sex, it's always every kind of sex rolled into one. And god, it just feels so damn good.

You know Mitchie's your best friend (she's really your first real friend) and that she's deeply and obliviously in love with her husband, but you also know that you put out way more than she ever will (even though you're not married and she is) and that you're not really hurting anyone. You're not truly, madly, deeply in love with Shane Grey (or whatever that bullshit is) and he's not in love with you. You just give great head.

Or so he says. You know that if you died right now at this moment, he would shed more than a few tears for you, and vice versa, although you're not proud of the fact.

You remember three years ago you were naïve and innocent and trusting and a little bit stupid. You thought that love lasted forever and life was a fairytale, but then life itself came crashing around you. You remember bursting into the house (then Shane's, now it's shared with Mitchie) and looking for Mitchie—she wasn't there.

You remember yourself finding Shane instead and hiccupping your story really loudly to him and him patting you awkwardly on the back. You remember feeling shy and girly, two things you had never felt before. You remember your first time as pity sex, with him roughly pulling your jeans down around your legs and smirking at your granny panties. You remember your third time he was mad at you and so he made you come seven times using only his mouth. He left bruises, but you never told him about the hurt. The fourth time, not even two days later, he ripped your panties open and saw his bite marks _down there_. He immediately left to find you a pair of his boxers to wear instead and wouldn't even touch you afterward. He hung his head in remorse and his eyes were full of guilt whenever they happened to catch yours, which wasn't often. He was awkward and fragile and delicate around you, and actually listened to the words pouring out of your mouth until one day when you were catching up with Mitchie and Shane, Mitchie left to go to the kitchen to make you a cup of coffee and you pulled Shane towards you, nipping at his neck and giving him a hickey. You whispered, "Now we're even," breathlessly into his ear and he grinned at you, for the first time in many days. You were just fixing his dark messy hair over his neck so that Mitchie wouldn't see the bruise when she came into the room, setting down a cup of the hot caffeinated drink in front of you.

You feel like laughing because your (and his) first time wasn't even in a bed; it was standing up pinned against a wall. In fact, you don't think you've ever actually done it on a bed with him--beds are for lovemaking, sweet and soft. Like Mitchie.

Not you though, you're rough and tough and no-nonsense and you can handle it. So he fucks you forwards, backwards, with his fingers, with his mouth, whichever way he can, standing up, sitting down, or lying on a table or on a couch or whatever surface he can find at the moment. He's never sweet with you, always violent and forceful. He whispers dirty words into your ear, words so dirty when combined that they instantly make your panties a little wetter. He's never delicate with you; it's usually always hard and fast, but you don't mind because you like it that way too. He's never soft, whenever he's slow he's teasing you to see how long you can last without screaming out his name or begging for it, but you don't mind because you like it that way too.

And you hope Mitchie is out right now because god, you really feel like you could use a quickie. You're not about to go gallivanting around the house and whisper-shouting "Shane!" like you did the second time when he called you for sex. Instead, you make your way up the stairs and into his room without giving it a second thought. What's there to see? You've already seen both Mitchie and Shane naked before.

Good. No Mitchie. Shane, though, is ever present. He's been waiting for you. You can tell from the sexy little smirk he tosses your way when you open the door. He's just been in the shower, you can tell from the way his damp hair curls up at the ends and the way he smells, not like his usual spicy cologne. You've told him you like his natural scent better than all the crap he sprays all over himself, but he wears his cologne anyways. Probably just to piss you off.

You can't hold back the grin that makes its way onto your face as you walk toward him. He catches you around the waist, and crashes his lips into yours in a searing kiss. In seconds, you and him are both naked--you've gotten so good at this you know how the buttons and zippers on his clothes work. He knows how yours work as well. You watch his face disappear behind the curtain of his hair as his lips ghost over your forehead, your eyes, your lips, your cheek, your ear, your jawline, your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, and finally your abdomen.

Barely ten minutes later, you and him are doing it on a couch. Your panties and bra, as well as various other items of clothing (both yours and his) are strewn around the floor. Your nails dig into his back as he goes harder, faster, and hits your sweet spot. You can't cry out loud, so you bite into his shoulder to keep from screaming. He barely winces, and watches your face as you fall apart in front of him. He breathes your name as he comes.

As he rides out the last waves of his release, he says a little breathlessly, "God, we're fucked up." You know. You and him are both messed up, more messed up than you ever thought you could be. You'd think at 22 you would have a boyfriend at least, but how can you when you know the only one you're going to fuck is the already married Shane Grey? You like to think that you could stop this from spiraling out of control, and maybe the first few times you did it, you could have. But now you're in deep, so deep that you can't get out of it. Then again, you never really _wanted_ to get out of it.

You're Caitlyn Gellar, you get what you want. You sigh into his bare chest, and he presses a kiss into your hair as you two talk about things that have no meaning—not in real life and definitely not in this place.

You get up to put your clothes back on, or to take a shower or get clean and do something. Shane Gray slides an arm around your waist, stopping you. He kisses your bare shoulder and finds his old sweatshirt for you to wear. Funny, now that he's done screwing with you he actually gives a damn about your modesty. You lean back into him, and try to savor these moments before Mitchie comes home. Because that's when Shane goes back to the sweet husband that he really, truly is except when he's around you and you have to go back to that ongoing monotony they like to call life. You press your lips to his softly, probably one of the only times you've ever kissed him like that, and try to forget as your hand threads into his hair and his pulls you closer.

**_author's note ii: _**_I know I already left one, but this one is different. Sort of. _

_Please review with more than "so sad/cute/etc" or "i loved it". Or you can answer this question: What's your favorite color?_

_Thank you loves!_

_--adrienne._


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